sculpture, vehicle, image,



Three canoes approach a beach. They are dragged onto the sand and we walk out to check the site. We were so grateful to find this spot! A lagoon in the middle distance separates the sand from a tall gather of trees. Found out later that a Kingfisher lives there, hunting, having a giant beak and head and a crazy mohawk of feathers. We beach, we walk, we wriggle in the sand and find little toads where the water hits the beach and some race through it. Sticky burrs hide in the sand and can hurt feet. We set up tents, gather wood. The sun is high.

At night I made a spiral in the sand with my fingers. There was a rhythm to it. The firelight and the light from the moon helped me to see. I would take two short steps to the right, bend down, scratch my fingers in the sand toward me, making 8 short lines at once, then take two steps over and repeat. The spiral expanded to where the river began. I was tired and sore when finished, and lay in the water to relax. The water smelled like cow shit. The Platte. I thought about my life. Inwardly, I thank Kjell for asking me to join this trip, for making the spiral and the paddling and the singing and laughing and the sun exposure possible. I went to the beach and sang with the Ukulele and talked to Kjell until long after everyone had gone to sleep. 

That night it rained and we got completely soaked!

We pushed off with our paddles once camping was over. The beach is left as it was, hopefully better. Bag of beach trash in tow. I had rolled in the Platte like a log under wide sky and let it wrap me around a sandbar. I had looked at it upside down and had river as sky and black star sky reflecting in it. 

Kjell made the canoe I rode in with his hands and called it Vasudeva. He painted it with blue and white stripes and painted eyes on the bow. The eyes so that the boat could see danger. We avoided most of it. The Platte was full and water sucked into sinkholes and seemed to boil like cauldrons sometimes. During the day sky blue reflected on the brown surface of the Elkhorn river. Blue on brown. Canoe on water. People on the river. There are white sandy beaches on the Elkhorn river and on the Platte river. I didn't really know that before. And the willows that line the banks of the Elkhorn where it is most sandy have light green leaves and spindly, woody stems that go down into the sand. Andrew said that their roots must hold them to each other, or else they'd slip into the water with the rain, and the sandy bank with them. I was glad for the willows holding the bank up. I was glad for the bank that we came to and landed on. I was glad for the swallows that swooped and were so many that we watched while we waited to push off on the canoes. I was glad for the friends who came along and for the way we all were together. I was glad for what we shared.